Some Days Are Living Questions

When I was growing up, we did not have dogs or cats for pets. This was a good thing for only one reason. I was a curious and sensitive child. If a cat died on our family watch, the saying "curiosity killed the cat" would have  devastated me. 

I know I was not one of those intellectually off-the-chart kids.  These are kids who are constantly curious and questioning because it is cognitively within their grasp. It is not possible for them not to grapple. I was probably in the category of "learning sponge" which accurately could describe all children. But I did entertain questions, multitudes of questions, mostly in my mind.  I was delighted the day my folks purchased a set of encyclopedias. 

It was winter of the seventh grade when I became aware that my questions needed some answers. Almost like built up steam needs an escape valve. I had questions like, "Why does the air rising from the heaters by the windows in the classroom make the outside look rippled?"  I was grateful my Mom and Dad purchased those encyclopedias. Until I looked it up, I was a little concerned the ripples I was seeing were apparitions. It was a Catholic school. 

Also in the seventh grade, my questions took on more complexity. I began having questions about God. Never about the existence of God. I was a believer.  But I was a curious believer who was perhaps ready for some twelve year old depth. It was a long time ago. But I do remember the classroom and the tone in the responses I received from my home room teacher (a firm but lovely nun), a priest (scary and intimidating) and my folks (who were faithfully committed to raising Catholic children).

My questions to the adults in my life started simple.  There was the one that asked, "What do you think Jesus wrote in the dirt with that stick?" Then they got more complex, "Why will only Catholics
be in heaven?"

I was not interested in debating, just wondering about God.  I was a bit obsessed.  A cult could have sucked me in rather handily.

To be honest, it was the adult tone that unnerved me more than the questions. I do not remember any exact responses. To be fair, the adults may have been working hard to help me see the omnipotence of God. But to this day I can viscerally remember how I felt after asking a question. I felt small and shamed and silenced.  I felt my questions were displeasing.

In high school, I took Religion classes, including one on comparative religions.  I joined YCS (Young Christian Students). By Junior year, I was done.

I believed in God, a Divine presence. But I knew something was wrong if questions were not good. So I basically checked out.

In college I went a couple of times to the campus Newman Center. I believe I did this as a social activity, similar to hanging out with friends at the lagoon.

So there was this intermittent constant in my life. Faith would come up at Christmastime and HolyWeek, or when someone shared they were "born again" or asked if I was "born again."

It was my perception that, when I was in conversation about faith and I shared a thought or asked a question, I needed to put on a mask. ASAP.  My masks ranged from being a compliant listener to being a judgmental bully. My masks hid the emotional flood I was experiencing.  Invariably, I felt small and shamed, silenced and displeasing to their God.

Then the day I said aloud in a group, "I believe in God. But Jesus, I don't know...I really struggle with this."  And Kathy Collier, a pastor, did not shame or even talk.  She gave me a copy of a quote by Rainer Maria Rilke.  This is the quote:

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.”

The sky did not open, angels did not sing, and apparitions did not ripple.  But I heard the words my soul had longed to hear: Learn to love the questions.

Now, even in the middle of all that is joyful and all that is painful in life, I am okay with the questions. Because....

I know I am living into the answers.  And in that, God is well pleased.